"You'll have to hear Ewbank and anybody I like to call, my good sir," retorted Petherton quietly. "I am better acquainted with the law than you are." He turned to the coroner's officer. "I warned you this morning to produce Ewbank," he said. "Now, where is he?"
Out of a deep silence a shrill voice came from the rear of the crowd.
"Knows better than to be here, does Dan'l Ewbank, mister! He's off!"
"Very good—or bad—for somebody," remarked Petherton, quietly. "Then—until Mr. Marston Greyle comes—we will call Zachary Spurge."
The assemblage, jurymen included, broke into derisive laughter as Spurge suddenly appeared from the most densely packed corner of the room, and it was at once evident to Copplestone that whatever the poacher might say, no one there would attach any importance to it. The laughter continued and increased while Spurge was under examination. Petherton appealed to the coroner; the coroner affected not to hear. And once more the foreman of the jury interrupted.
"We don't want to hear no more o' this stuff!" he said. "It's an insult to us to put a fellow like that before us. We don't believe a word o' what he says. We don't believe he was within a mile o' them ruins on Sunday afternoon. It's all a put-up job!"
Petherton leaned towards the reporters.
"I hope you gentlemen of the press will make a
